


dinner rush

by psychiatrist_returning



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Spoilers for Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychiatrist_returning/pseuds/psychiatrist_returning
Summary: You would never come back, you vowed, unless...
Relationships: Sam Seaborn/Reader
Kudos: 1





	dinner rush

**Author's Note:**

> from my tumblr psychiatristreturning

The dinner rush was kicking your ass. Like it did every night. Like it had every night for almost four years. You weren’t used to it yet. It’s very difficult to go from renowned lawyer and manager to someone who was resented across the board. You, a Harvard educated lawyer was detested for something you didn’t do. And the president knows you didn’t do it. But had to let you go for ‘matters of image’. You still voted for Bartlet, he was a good man, and you weren’t an idiot. But something was different about tonight. What? You don’t know, but something, something was off. As you approached the table you attempted to finish the little scribbled drawing you had made on your ordering pad. Absentmindedly you introduced yourself, “Hello, I’m Y/N, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Would you like to start with any…” you looked up at the man in the booth, “Sam? What are you doing here?” 

“You’re working here? I just came here because I knew your parents owned this place.” 

Your mouth was agape at Sam, “Why are you here? I was fired for something that I didn’t do, so I don’t know what you want from me.” 

You turned on your foot before he said, “We want, we need you back,” 

“Who’s we?”

“The White House.” you turned and walked back to him, sliding onto the other side of the booth, “We’re going to get ourselves into a bit of legal trouble, and, if you would like to, you could become the lawyer for the White House.”

You pointed your hand at your chest, “Me? You want me back? After you kicked me off, for something you know I didn’t do!?” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “We know you didn’t do it, and, hey, the president requested you to represent him in court!” 

“Why will he being going to court?” 

Sam swallowed, uncertain of what to say, “Can we talk outside?” You nodded, not knowing what to do, you walked out of the restaurant with Sam following, he looked around, and pulled you close, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, “The president has an undisclosed illness, that will lead people to believe that he cheated the American people.”

“What does he have?”

“Multiple Sclerosis.” 

You pulled away from Sam, “Wow, is he alright?” 

“Yeah, but he’ll be coming clean on Wednesday.” Your eyes widened, “It’s Sunday night.” 

“Please come with me then,” You couldn’t resist Sam’s wide brown eyes, and you adopted a small smile, “Okay, I’ll come with you. For the president.” 

He grabbed your hands, “For the president.”


End file.
